RE-Enter the Survival Horror
by The 4th Snake
Summary: A short retelling of Leon and Claire's first meeting.
1. Survivors

Raccoon City was dying.

Claire saw nothing but ruin and devastation in all direction as she stared through the window of the RPD squad car whose passenger seat she was currently occupying. Everywhere she looked, there were fires, smashed shop displays, and grey-skinned individuals shambling through the streets with severed limbs, bloody mouths and rotting flesh.

She had just arrived in the city via motorcycle less than half an our ago. She had stopped at a gas station at the edge of town to fill up the tank and rest her numb rear end, only to find the place deserted. It didn't stay deserted for long, however, as a horde of these... what could only be described as 'zombies', broke their way into the building to attack her. Claire fled through the back door, only to find a gun in her face. The man holding then gun told her to get down and shot one of the zombies that had been close to taking a bite out of her. He had then led her to a nearby police car and driven her into town.

Now that the adrenaline had worn off and she had a better look at the man, she realised that he wearing one of the RPD's armoured uniforms. It was a strange coincidence that she wasn't about to question, that she would find help with an officer stationed at the very location she had been heading.

"You're RPD?" she said once her breathing had returned to normal.

"Huh?" he responded, too focused on avoiding the decaying people shambling into the car's path for his brain to process what she had said right away. "Oh, yeah. I am. Officer Leon Kennedy."

Claire wasn't familiar with an officer by that name. And from the look of him, he was probably around her age. Still, she had to ask, "I'm looking for my brother. He's with the RPD's S.T.A.R.S. unit - Chris Redfield? Do you know anything about where he might've gone?"

Leon shook his head, eyes fixed on the road ahead. "Sorry, I'm new to the force, so I don't really know anybody yet."

"Oh. I see," she replied, sounding more dejected than she had intended.

"First day on the job, actually," he replied in a slightly jovial tone, seemingly having noticed Claire's own tone and trying to lighten the mood.

Claire stared, mouth slightly agape. "You're kidding?"

He shook his head again and a handsome smile spread across his lips. "Wish I was. I'm actually running late too. Hell of a start to my illustrious career in law enforcement, huh?"

"You're telling me. Chris was in the air force before he joined S.T.A.R.S. and he never had to deal with... whatever fucked up nightmare this is..."

"Lucky him. Hopefully, he got out of the city before the blockade was set up."

"Yeah. Hopefully."

The two fell into silence as they pondered the terrible predicament they had found themselves in. It was Leon who broke he silence after a few minutes filled by only the sounds of the engine, evasive swerves around zombies, and the odd burst of distant gunfire.

"So, you just... what, snuck in through the blockade?"

Looking back, Claire felt more than a little embarrassed by what, now, seemed like an absolutely terrible idea. "Y-Yeah," she admitted quietly. "I haven't heard from Chris in, like, two months now. We usually call each other every couple weeks, but I haven't heard anything since July."

"I heard there was an incident back in July up in the mountains. Some kinda gas leak at an old mansion in the middle of the forest or something." Sparing a few glances, Leon realised that bringing up an 'incident' in response to Claire worrying about her brother was probably not the most tactful thing he could have done. "Hey, don't worry. If something serious had happened, you'd have heard by now. No professional organisation would keep an employee's disappearance a secret from their family for months on end. He's probably just on vacation or something. Maybe with a girlfriend or something?"

Claire chuckled. Yeah, she was sure _that_ relationship was going to progress that way.

"If it makes you feel any better, Claire, we can ask around at the station once we get there. Check the station's records too."

Claire nodded, but said nothing. Realising he'd been watching the road, she quickly responded. "Alright. Thanks, Officer Kennedy."

"Just call me Leon," he replied. "Keeps it shorter, in case you need to call out or something."

"Alright. Then, you can call me Claire."

"Will do."

Again, silence fell. This time, it was Claire who broke it.

"So, you know why I 'hopped the fence', so to speak. What about you? Why did you come through the blockade?"

"I was supposed to start a couple days ago. But I got a call from the station telling me to stay away because of the rioting."

"Rioting is an understatement..." Claire muttered as she looked out the window at the devastation.

"Yeah. I figured it would be resolved quickly and that I'd just be in the way if I showed up. But, I can't just sit at home while people are in danger like this. If it's not been resolved by now, we need everyone on-hand, veteran or rookie."

Claire nodded with a smile. There was a certain naivety that separated the two, but Leon and Chris both shared that same desire to help people. For Chris, it likely came from him being Claire's primary care-giver during her early teens. She wondered where Leon's came from...

"Hey, open the glove compartment," Leon said, finally sounding like he was taking charge of the situation.

Claire did as she was asked and found only a handgun inside. A 9mm Browning HP, from the look of it. Claire removed the weapon from the compartment, checked that the safety was on, and ejected the magazine to check the ammo count. Fully loaded. Good.

"You look like you know your way around a handgun," Leon observed.

"Uh-huh. Having an overprotective brother has its advantages." Claire slid the magazine back into place with a satisfying click. She held the weapon, not entirely sure what Leon wanted her to do with this piece of RPD property. "It's loaded," she confirmed.

"Good. Keep hold of it."

"You sure?"

"Positive. In light of the current situation, you need to be able to defend yourself."

"How do you know I'm not just some psycho who'll turn this thing on you the first chance I get."

Leon opened his mouth, but no words came out. Clearly, he hadn't thought of that. Her initial assessment of him was proving right. "W-Well, you seem like a good enough person. And your brother's a cop, so..." He went quiet again.

Claire let out a chuckle. "Thanks, Leon." The weight of the gun was comforting in her hands. It reminded her of her training with Chris.

"Sure. We're just a couple of blocks away now. Once we get there, we-"

Leon was cut off as a rotting grey arm reached out from behind to grab at him. Claire whirled around in her seat to find, to her horror, that a zombie had gotten inside the car. Had it managed to get inside while they were trying to get the car going, or had it been there the entire time and they just hadn't checked? A rookie mistake. Chris would be pissed at her carelessness if he ever found out.

Placing her left hand on the back of her seat to steady herself, Claire pulled her right arm back and rammed the barrel of her pistol into the creature's forehead. Its head snapped back at an angle that could not have been endured by a normal person, but it continued its attempt to bite the officer, otherwise unimpeded. Claire once again brought the barrel up to the zombie's face, but slower this time, taking aim. She tried to pull the trigger, but nothing happened. In her panic, she had forgotten to turn the safety off.

"Shit."

The car was veering wildly now. A heavy bump sent a body flying over the top of the car, which Claire prayed was already dead beforehand. The car was practically moving sideways at times, but Leon kept it largely under control. Until another body got in the way, sending the car spinning out of control as it sped towards a T-intersection. The car was facing backwards as it collided with a street sign on the sidewalk.

Claire's head was spinning as she slowly recovered from the crash. Leon seemed equally daze, but otherwise fine. Rubbing her back of her head, Claire looked back to where the zombie had been. It was gone now. Peering back further, she saw that the rear window was shattered, blood coating the jagged edges where the body had gone through. Its legs were dangling lifelessly over the backseat, while its head had collided directly with the pole, splitting it in two, as it had also done to the car's trunk.

"Eugh." Claire collapsed back into her seat, trying to catch her breath. If there had been any useful gear in the trunk, it was likely inaccessible now, even if it _had_ survived the crash unscathed. And worse, the car was most likely going to struggle to get them to the station. It wasn't far, sure, but she wasn't too fond of the idea of proceeding on foot. She'd rather stay in the car and hope they could get it running.

The choice was to be taken away from her, however, as Leon interrupted her thoughts with an utterance of, "Shit!" Looking up, Claire saw that barrelling towards them was a large oil tanker. Its speed didn't suggest it was going to slow down before hitting them. Claire and Leon both scrambled to undo their seatbelts and get the doors open. Claire had barely made it out when the larger vehicle, practically tipping over already, flattened the squad car and the pole that had stopped it, crashing through the wall of whatever building had been unfortunate enough to be build directly in the truck's path.

Claire ran, got as far from the truck as possible before an explosion rocked the street. The sound was disorientating, the heat was scalding and the blast was strong enough to lift her off the ground and carry her a good few feet before depositing her harshly onto the asphalt. Claire rolled onto her back and clutched the hip she had landed on. She looked back at the blazing inferno situated in the spot she and Leon had been in mere seconds ago.

With great pains, Claire forced herself up onto her knees with her other hand. Her hip and elbow throbbed as she raised herself to her feet, supporting herself on a nearby car. She looked herself over and found her elbow and the entire side of her leg to be scraped and bleeding. Now, she had a reason other than the late-September air to curse herself for choosing shorts and a sleeveless jacket over pants and a full jacket. She hoped Jill might be able to lend her a spare change of clothes at the station, assuming she ever made it there.

She spotted the handgun lying in the road a few paces away from her. She hobbled over and crouched down to pick it up. Her legs used that as an excuse to try to give up then and there, but she clenched her teeth and forced herself back up to her feet.

"Claire!" She could just about make out the voice over the roaring of the impassible flames, the sparking or ruined electronics and the occasional piece of collapsing architecture that had managed to hold out until now.

"Leon!" she called back. "I'm alright! But, the fire...!"

"I know! We'll have to regroup at the station! Do you know your way from here!?"

"Y-Yeah! I'll meet you there!"

The sound of her shouting seemed to have attracted the attention of a group of zombies nearby. As they shambled into the illumination of the hellfire blockade behind her, she saw that some of them were decked out in the standard blue RPD uniform. She began to worry about the situation down at the station, but she shook her head clear of those thoughts. She couldn't let herself lose hope now. She'd survived the gas station, the crash and the explosion so far. She couldn't let something like dread be her end now.

She shifted her weight onto both feet, levelled the handgun at the forehead of the closest former RPD officer, thumbed off the safety, and pulled the trigger.

* * *

 _I started playing RE2 for the first time recently, in preparation for the remake. I'd played the PC demo and the Darkside Chronicles retelling, but never gone through the original myself. I finished Leon A and started Claire B last night. Going through the intro again, I started imagining a more fleshed-out version of the car scene where Leon and Claire properly introduce themselves. It was partly about how certain information could be conveyed naturally through a longer conversation, like Claire's motive and Leon being on his first day on the job._


	2. Sanctuary

Claire quickly, but quietly, pushed open the smaller gate off to the side of the Raccoon Police Department's main gates. She had guessed, based on her long route through the Kendo Gun Shop, a series of back alleys and a small basketball court, that Leon would reach the station ahead of her; assuming he made it there at all.

Fortunately, he had done so. Claire had spotted him standing behind the large main gates, which were being swarmed by zombies. From the looks of things, he had the gate firmly held shut, so he was safe. At least, he was safe from zombies on the _outside_. He had spotted her too, and had indicated with is arms for her to head for this smaller side gate, while he rattled the main gates to lure over enough zombies to make Claire's trip across the street much easier.

Once she was in, she bolted the gate shut and took a moment to catch her breath. From where she stood, there were two paths: one leading to a set of stairs down to the small walkway underneath the front doors, the other to another small gate out to the front doors. She headed over to the latter, as Leon approached from his side.

"Claire. I'm glad to see you're okay," he said as he wrapped a hand around one of the bars. His other hand fiddled with a large padlock that kept a chain secured to the gate. "Dammit."

"Yeah, I'm glad to see you made it too. Good thinking, rattling the gate like that."

"It may have made the situation worse. We don't know how strong these things are. I hope they can't break down the gates."

"We'd better get inside and help fortify the station then."

"I don't think that'll help."

"What do you mean?"

"When I arrived, I quickly went inside to see about getting some help for when you showed up. But the main hall is deserted. I checked one of the offices and found Lieutenant Branagh. Do you know him?"

"I think I met him once when I came to meet Chris last year. Marvin Branagh. How is he?"

"It's real bad. He's been bitten, and he locked himself in the office so he couldn't hurt anyone."

"Jesus, no."

"I'm sorry. He seems like a good man."

"Isn't there anything we can do for him?"

"He says there's no known cure for the virus. He had a dizzy spell and thought he might be turning, so he told me to check the S.T.A.R.S. office, since 'some of the things they said back in July make sense now', whatever that means."

"There was a series of cannibal murders up in the forest outside of town around that time. That can't be a coincidence."

"Definitely not. I guess the office is our next port of call."

"Yeah. I'll work my way around and..." Claire trailed off as she felt something on her head. She felt nothing as she touched the spot with her hand, but the cloudy night sky seemed to confirm her suspicion as she looked upwards. "Feels like it's starting to rain."

Leon looked Claire over, his gaze slowing as it covered her grazed legs. "We need to get inside. Now. Last thing we need is you catching a cold during all this."

"Okay. I'll head down the stairs and work my way around."

"Hold on, I'll hop the railing and go with you." Leon was already on his way before Claire could react.

"No, wait!"

"What?" he replied, coming back into view.

"The people inside probably barricaded the entrances. We should stay apart for now to make sure at least _one_ of us can get inside."

"Good point," Leon admitted, seemingly reluctant. "It'll be a problem if there's no way in from down there."

"Exactly."

"Alright. Do you know your way to the S.T.A.R.S. office?"

"I think so. I should be able to find my way once I get my bearings inside."

"We'll meet there if we can both get inside then. We should be able to find some weapons there. Or information about your brother, if nothing else."

"Okay. I'll see you inside."

"Oh, and one last thing."

"Yeah?"

"Here." Leon reached down to his belt and produced a sheathed combat knife. He held it out through the bars and into her waiting hand. "Take this. I have _some_ idea what's inside and I have more experience with a gun. It'll be more useful for you."

While Claire wasn't sure she liked the implication that Leon worried she was a bad enough shot to repeatedly miss and waste all of her ammo, she had to admit that, given her screw-up with the safety in the car, that there was at least _some_ validity to that concern. She nodded her head and attached it to her own belt.

"How are you for ammo?" he asked, checking his own weapon's magazine.

"I've got a few rounds left," she reported, mimicking his actions.

"Here." He passed her a spare magazine.

Again, she felt more than a little condescended to, before she remembered him saying he had entered the building already and surmising that he had managed to collect a few from there. She regretted running the second Kendo's store was compromised, instead of grabbing a weapon on her way out. Reluctantly, she conceded Leon's point and took the magazine from him, replacing the almost spent one in her own weapon.

"You good to go?" he asked. Despite the unintentional condescension, having Leon around to look out for her was, admittedly, quite comforting. He reminded her of Chris in a lot of ways; particularly from back when he had first joined the air force.

"Yes. I'll see you inside, Leon."

"Okay. Good luck, Claire."

With that, the two split up, Leon entering the station through the front door just as Claire began descending the stairs below him. There was a small supply room down there, if she recalled correctly. Since Leon hadn't come down here yet, she hoped there might be some supplies in there, if she could get inside. She had learned to pick locks after seeing Jill in action, much to Chris' chagrin, so she was sure getting in wouldn't be too much trouble.

She stopped dead as she reached the bottom. She had made the mistake of keeping her eyes on her feet instead of in front of her. Had she been more wary of her surroundings, she would have seen it sooner. Fortunately, it was not a horde of zombies waiting for her at the bottom; though she might have actually preferred that.

Instead, what awaited her was, from an outside perspective, a preferable alternative to a large horde of nameless, faceless undead. But this one wasn't nameless or faceless. His bright yellow jacket, although stained red with a sickening amount of blood running down from a gaping neck wound, was the first sign of his identity. As he stepped a little closer into the illumination of the entryway lights above, his face became clear.

Brad Vickers was a member of the S.T.A.R.S. Alpha Team, along with Chris, Jill and Barry. While Claire wasn't as familiar with Brad as she was Barry or even Jill, he had seemed nice enough in their few encounters. He was polite, courteous and definitely not suited to his dangerous occupation. Still, the others always assured her he was qualified and could be relied upon when it counted. Though it was cruel to think so, Claire would have easily placed Brad as one of the first to go in a situation like this. But that didn't make her stomach churn any less.

Facing a horde of unknowns was nothing compared to this, and Claire worried all the more for the fate of Jill, Barry and especially Chris. Perhaps, he would have been better off dying in that gas explosion that was alleged to have killed a few of the Bravo Team members back in July. But then again, based on what Leon had heard from Lt. Branagh, that probably wasn't even true.

If nothing else, she could put Brad out of his misery before she continued inside. She could have tested out the knife Leon had given her, but getting too close, in light of who this zombie had been, was probably the worst approach she could take. Instead, she drew her handgun, spread her legs firmly, made sure the safety was definitely off this time, and raised the weapon out in front of herself. She took her time lining up her shot, which she felt only prolonged Brad's suffering, but she also felt sure he would want her to take the chance to practice with the weapon to better prepare her for the challenges to come.

Brad took two more steps closer, his stiff arms reaching out with paradoxically limp wrists. He was within three metres of her now.

Claire silently apologised to Brad and squeezed the trigger.

* * *

The trip up to the S.T.A.R.S. office wasn't too difficult once she was inside. She entered from the side door on the eastern side of the building, the exact opposite side from where she needed to be. Fortunately, she passed a number of corpses whose seemingly fresh blood seemed at odds with the level of decay in their features. Whether they had been shot by on-station officers or even Leon trying to make her journey easier, she couldn't say.

The supply room beneath the entrance had mostly been a bust. No weapons or ammo, no radios, no food. She had managed to find a first aid kit, though, which she used to patch up her scrapes and bruises, leaving her all the more self-conscious about her decision to wear shorts. Fortunately, the bandages did seem to help keep her a little warmer, at least.

The large office between her entryway and the main hall was large and seemed to still contain a fair few active zombies. Claire slowly made her way around the room via the hallway, where only a couple of stragglers remained. Neither one noticed her, so she contemplated approaching quietly with her knife. She worried that her boots would cause too much noise, but the prospect of stepping through blood and guts in just her socks or bare feet was far from appealing.

Since the zombies seemed to lack basic intelligence, she wondered if they could understand the context of an object moving into their view. To test her theory that they would simply focus on the object and not its point of origin, she produced her original magazine, now containing only two rounds, and slid it harshly across the floor past them. It passed between the legs of the closest zombie (a female officer) and past the farthest (a male civilian) and slowed to a stop just short of the opposite wall. Perfect.

She waited and prayed as the two turned their attention towards the errant object. They didn't turn back to where it had come from. Instead, they slowly approached to investigate the magazine itself. Seizing her chance, Claire approached as quietly as she could, staying low to avoid being seen by the zombies inside the office. In one fluid motion that surprised even herself, Claire rose to a standing position, grabbed the officer by the collar, and plunged the knife into the back of her skull. The sound was sickening. As was the rush of blood that almost touched her hand as it oozed out of the fresh wound. She avoided contamination by releasing her hold, causing the officer to collapse like a ragdoll to the ground.

The clatter of the body alerted the other zombie, which turned its head in a loose way that suggested severe damage to its neck. It because more alert and aggressive as it noticed her. It turned itself around with all the grace of a fridge on legs and limped its way towards her.

Thinking quickly, Claire put her hands under the officer's arms and lifted her, thankful that this particular officer was not built like Barry. With as much force as she could muster, Claire shoved the body of the first zombie into the second, knocking it off its feet and pinning it under the officer's weight. What was relatively easy for a human to lift, was a fair bit harder for a rigor-mortis-ridden zombie, it seemed.

With the zombie unable to attack, Claire contemplated pinning it further with her own weight and stabbing it in the skull. She hesitated at the thought that even a scratch might be able to spread this potentially supernatural curse. She opted to instead move on while she had the chance. Giving the zombie as wide a berth as possible while it tried in vain to grab her ankle, she moved along the far wall, eyes shooting constantly between the pinned zombie, the windows of the office, the corner ahead and the corpses lining the wall beneath her. Once around the corner, with no zombies in sight, Claire moved quickly to the door into the main hall and slammed it shut behind her.

The hall was grand; a result of the building having once been a museum, before it was converted into the new police HQ back in '69. A building this large was deemed necessary for the police to operate from as the city continued to expand, along with the resulting rise in crime. It was certainly unique and somewhat gothic, with a large statue of some goddess dominating the back wall on the upper floor.

After checking the front desk, attached to which was a note written by Leon to inform her that he had left two magazines and a flashlight for her there, Claire proceeded towards the two sets of stairs that led up to the statue at either side. Supposedly, those stairs had not originally been there until the police had renovated the building. The original museum had been built with a guided tour in mind, beginning on the ground floor along the western side before moving up a floor and going all the way around. Aside from an emergency ladder, the only way back down was one of two staircases at either end of the long building, one of which was external. It was a miracle the police ever got anything done with such eccentric planning. Perhaps, that played a part in the story of the building's downfall.

As she approached the stairs, a large pool of blood caught her attention. A smaller trailed led from the pool to the door of the office that Leon had mentioned. Claire stepped closer to the door and gingerly knocked on it. There was no answer, at first, but a second knock resulted in a weak voice speaking up, as if roused from sleep by the knocking.

"Wh...Who's there?"

"Um, hello? Lt. Branagh? It's Claire Redfield. Chris Redfield's sister?"

She worried he might have slipped into unconsciousness again when she received no answer, but one did come after a few moments.

"Yeah. Mm, I remember you. What are you- mmh- doing here?"

"I'm looking for my brother. I've not heard from him since July. I was hoping someone here might know what's going on with him."

There was another uncomfortably long pause before he answered. He was either struggling, or choosing how best to respond for any number of reasons.

"Chris got suspended."

"Wait. Did you say 'suspended'?"

"Y-Yeah... Back in August. Elran from the Boy's Crime Department spilled coffee on him and... Chris lashed out. I guess all the stress was getting to him."

"Stress?"

"Get up to the... the S.T.A.R.S. office if... if you can... I'm not gonna..."

After that, there were no further replies from Lt. Branagh.

* * *

With the concerning news of Chris' suspension fresh in her mind, Claire set off at a quickened pace to get to the bottom of this. She headed up the stairs to the library above the office. She found herself hoping there might be some damage to the floor so she could circumvent the lock and check on Lt. Branagh, but no such thing was to be found.

Instead, she found a handful of zombies in the room. Consisting of two floors and a number of spaced-out bookcases and tables, there was enough room for Claire to almost effortlessly weave her way around the zombies and have the door closed and barred with a chair before any of them could even come close to grabbing her.

From the small landing she found herself on, she was one door away from the hallway leading to the S.T.A.R.S. office. The hallway was deserted, other than two dead zombies and one... Claire didn't even know what it was. It looked somewhat human, but stripped of its skin with its brain exposed. Its hands, if they could even be called that, were larger than its head and ended in massive, sword-like claws. Its feet had the same kinds of claws, but the legs seemed shrunken in a way that combined with the long arms to give off something of a primate vibe.

It had a long tongue that would give Gene Simmons a run for his money, spread out across the floor. Not only was it long, but it was thick too. She recall the gaping puncture wound on Brad's neck and wondered if this thing had been responsible. Or worse, _another_ like it.

With her flashlight, she spotted a number of bullet wounds across its body, including two in the brain. She hoped this meant Leon had made it. She slowly pushed open the door to the well-lit office, her gun entering the room before she did. As the door revealed more of the room, she found Leon standing against the far wall between the desks, his weapon trained on the door until he saw her and lowered it.

"Leon!" Claire cried, running into the room and embracing him. Even with their earlier meeting outside the building, the gate separating them had made her feel like she and he weren't even close to one another. Without that dividing barrier, she now felt like she had found another living person for the first time since the Kendo Gun Store.

Though he hesitated at first, Leon did return the hug before patting her on the back and pushing her lightly away. "I'm glad you made it."

"You too. God, this whole station is a wreck."

"Yeah. I don't know if you went through the west wing on the ground floor, but the carnage down there... There are other things out there. Not just zombies."

"Like that thing outside this room? The skinned thing with the long tongue?"

"Yeah. That's the second one I've come across. There are probably more."

"That's just great. There's probably something even worse out there too."

"I wouldn't be surprised. But now that we're back together, we can stick together and tackle whatever comes as a team. Right?"

"Yeah. Thanks, Leon."

"Of course. Now, I got here just before you did, so I've not had a chance to properly search. The radio's on the fritz, so we can't use it to call for help or reach out to other officers throughout the city for information."

"It's probably being jammed by whoever's responsible to stop information from getting out."

"What?"

"Nothing. Elza, My roommate back in college, she's a big conspiracy nut. I guess she's rubbed off on me a little."

"Well, based on what Lt. Branagh said about that incident in July, that may not be beyond the realm of possibility."

"God, I hope not."

"For now, all we can do is focus on surviving this. And finding some clues about your brother, if we can. Conspiracies can wait for later."

"Yeah. You're right. Thanks, Leon."

"Lt. Branagh gave me a password to get into the lockup here." Leon handed a piece of paper with said password to Claire and pointed her towards the side room to the left, where the team's lockers and weapons were kept. "You go check the lockers for supplies and fresh clothes. I'll stay out here and look through these files."

Claire nodded. "Here," she said, handing over the remaining bandages to Leon. "Could come in handy later."

"Uh, sure?"

Claire limped over to the computer in front of the locker room, only now realising how much her legs stung and throbbed from the pain, and input the credentials. Once the door was open, she headed inside.

It was a small room designed for storage, naturally. A series of lockers lined the back wall, along with benches in front of them to sit on. Right next to them on the right, directly in front of her as she entered, was the weapon locker. Inside was a magnum, similar to Barry's personal Colt Python. She assumed there was another weapon storage room elsewhere in the station for general RPD use. They'd probably find more weapons there.

For now, Claire opened up Jill's locker, anticipating it being locked, but finding it slightly ajar. Either someone else had gotten to it before her, or Jill had left it open herself. Maybe she hoped whatever was left might be able to help anyone else who passed through. Fortunately, what was left _would_ be useful for her. Inside were two changes of clothes. One seemed to cover even less skin than Claire's attire. Based on the empty hangar, Claire surmised that Jill may have come here for the same reason she had. Luckily, the other set of clothes was much more fitting: a black tank top, red jacket and dark jeans.

Claire let out a sigh of relief. "Good thing Jill and I are almost the same size," she said as she pulled the clothes loose. "And red was always more my colour than Jill's anyway."

Claire slipped off her boots before remembering she was not alone. The room was separated from the office by a wall, but there was also a window and door, both of which provided only minimal cover via some light latticework. It seemed the S.T.A.R.S. were just incredibly mature when it came to changing with the opposite sex present. Claire, however, was not.

"Hey. Could you, uh, give me some privacy, please?"

"Huh?" Leon looked up from whatever notes he was reading and recognised what Claire was doing. "Oh, right. Yeah. Sorry." He quickly turned his back to her, a few notes still in his hands to look over.

Claire kept her eyes on Leon as she quickly changed out of her shorts and jacket and into Jill's spare clothes. Her own boots would remain, as she felt that they granted some added protection and stopping power compared to Jill's extra pair of sneakers, especially since Jill's feet were a size or two larger than hers. It brought to mind that scene from Die Hard, but in reverse.

"So, you said you're in college?" Leon said as Claire began to change, vanquishing the awkward silence that dominated the room.

"That's right. What about it?"

"You came into town tonight. You don't go to Raccoon U?"

"Oh, no. I was gonna, but they don't offer the courses I was looking for."

"What courses are those?"

"Well, I love motorcycles, so I wanted to take engineering, but the Raccoon U course is too general."

"And you wanted something more specialised."

"Right. I can learn about cars another time. For now, I want to hone in on motorcycles. Then, once I'm done, I'm gonna build my own."

"Oh, nice. Any particular models take your fancy?"

"Well, the bike I've got right now is a Ducati 500 GTL from the '70's. My dad used to ride one of those back when he was younger. But what I'm really looking at is the Harley-Davidson Night Train. That baby's got fifty-six horsepower, five-thousand RPM, up to a hundred and fifty-five miles... Sorry. I guess I got a little carried away there. And I guess my Ducati got left behind at the gas station. Fuck."

"If we can secure a pickup, we might be able to go get it on our way out of town."

"True. You find anything out there?"

"Not yet. There's a report about an escaped convict who died around that time, and a report on a gas explosion at a mansion in the forest. Apparently, most of the S.T.A.R.S. died in the blast, including their captain. Only officers Burton, Redfield, Valentine, Vickers and Chambers survived."

Claire's mind went back to the image of Brad's broken body in the underpass - three fresh bullet wounds in his collar, neck and forehead. "Brad didn't make it," she mumbled.

"What was that?"

"Brad Vickers. He was zombified in the underpass. I came across him just after we split up."

"Jesus. Are you okay?"

"I will be. I just need a little time to process it."

"Hey. Just because one of the S.T.A.R.S. didn't make it, doesn't mean none of them did. This report is probably bogus, but it does claim Vickers never entered the mansion, since he was the pilot. If they saw something he didn't, they probably knew to get out of town ASAP. Or, losing so many of their friends back in July, maybe they just went on vacation and never came back."

"Chris doesn't take vacations. He always has to be forced to take his days off, and he doesn't really use the opportunity to travel, aside from visiting me. Apparently, he got suspended."

"Suspended?"

"Yeah." Claire stepped out of the locker room in her new clothes, adjusting the tank top around the waist. Her legs and arms were now covered and ready for the rainy night. "Lt. Branagh said it happened back in August."

"August... August..." Leon flicked through the reports until he found the one on the incident in question. "Someone spilled coffee on him... Huh?" A small envelope slipped out of the folder and fell to the floor. Claire crouched down to pick it up.

"This is Chris' handwriting."

"What?"

"And these stamps look legitimate. Maybe he really did go on vacation."

"Well, open it up." Leon seemed almost excited as Claire was to have this lead on Chris' whereabouts.

Claire did as he suggested and read aloud: " _'To my bestest S.T.A.R.S. buds.'_ Buds? That doesn't sound like Chris."

"I'd have thought 'bestest' would've tipped you off first."

"That too. _'How are you all doing in that drab, old station? Hanging in there against old Irons? Me? I just got back from a date with a hot chick.'_ He doesn't date either. To my and a lot of others' annoyance... _'Bet you can guess what we got up to under her extra-large umbrella.'_ Ew, Jesus, Chris. _'Europe is amazing. One month is in no way enough to even scratch the surface.'_ Wait, he really _is_ in Europe? _'Maybe I'll extend my vacation for another six months.'_ Six months!? When is this dated? August 29th? He's gonna be gone until February?"

Leon pulled the letter closer to his own eyeline to more efficiently read through the note while Claire continued reeling. " _'Barry, don't you even think of coming to join me. Wouldn't want to make all the cute girls cry, yeah? So you just leave the babes to me. Jill, if Claire tries to contact you, please let her know I'm OK. Chris Redfield, August 29th.'_ This Jill. Did you try contacting her?"

"I did, right as the 'riots' started, but I couldn't reach her. I guess she got caught up in all this too."

"Well, we've not seen her body, so she probably left the city as soon as shit hit the fan."

Claire hoped he was right, sitting in silence in Chris' desk chair as she took in what she had learned. Chris really had gone on vacation and planned to be gone for God only knew how much longer without so much as a word to her.

Leon reread the note a few times before speaking again. "Could it be an encoded message?"

"Huh?"

"If what Lt. Branagh said about the S.T.A.R.S. not being believed about whatever happened in July is true, the 'Hanging in there against old Irons?' comment could be a coded reference to disputes with Chief Irons. And you did say the letter doesn't sound like it was written by him."

"Oh. So, this is Chris reporting in about whatever he's doing, under the guise of a letter about his vacation."

"Bingo."

"Alright. Pull up the file on the mansion incident. Cover-up or not, there could be some real clues in there."

"On it. ...It says the mansion belonged to an Ozwell E. Spencer. Isn't that the name of one of the founders of the Umbrella Corporation?"

"Umbrella?"

"Yeah. I did some research on Raccoon when I was applying for my position here. Apparently, one of Umbrella's founders lived just outside of town back when he and his partners formed the company. I guess this means he still did by July. Doesn't say his body was found there, though."

"Look here! _'Bet you can guess what we got up to under her extra-large umbrella.'_ Umbrella. You think he's talking about the company?"

"If all this started with cannibal murders in the forest around the home of one of the company's founders, that would make sense. And I think I read that they have a major facility in Paris."

"And Umbrella is powerful enough for my dumb jamming theory to actually hold some water."

"...True. God, this might actually be true. Everything just lines up so perfectly. Maybe _too_ perfectly. We shouldn't let ourselves be convinced this is true, just yet. That would limit our ability to find evidence that conflicts with the theory."

"Yeah, you're right. What's the plan now then?"

"First, we'll keep searching these files and gathering supplies. Then, we'll head down to the weapons locker below us. After that, we'll check in on Lt. Branagh and head to the eastern wing's upper floor. The chief's office is there, so we might find more survivors or information."

"Alright. Sounds like a plan."

* * *

While the search yielded some ammunition, the magnum as the most significant discovery. Claire forced Leon to take it, since it was a little too heavy for her taste, and she was damn sure he was a better shot than her, so she knew he'd make better use of the weapon's single magazine than she would have.

The only other discovery of note was a letter Claire found about the S.T.A.R.S. unit's new Samurai Edge handgun that had been developed shortly before the incident in July and was being tested by the Alpha Team at the time. The wording of the letter suggested that the designer, Robert Kendo, had been close friends with Barry. This made her feel even more guilty about leaving him behind when the zombies got a hold of him.

The trip to the weapons lockup was a short one. Only a handful of zombies in their path remained active. The rest had been either killed by Leon on his way up, or already dealt with by other survivors before he had even arrived. The lockup was roughly twice the size of the S.T.A.R.S. team's personal locker room, and had a shotgun, a revolver and a small submachine gun. Leon took the former and gave Claire instructions on how to wield the other two.

Across the hall from the lockup was the other entrance to the office Lt. Branagh was holed up in. They knocked on the door, but received no answer. Fearing the worst, Leon went to bash the door open, but Claire stopped him, pointing to a nearby skinned creature hanging on the ceiling like Spider-Man, which seemingly hadn't noticed them yet. Quietly moving around the creature, it became apparent that it had no eyes, relying instead on sound to track its prey. Good to know.

Leon guided Claire to a nearby blocked-off hallway. There was a high window leading into the conference room, which would save them a lot of time going back around. He lifted her up into the window and she helped pull him through from her elevated position atop a desk.

Once back in the main hall, Claire rushed over to the office door and knocked again. Still no answer. They spent a minute trying to get Branagh's attention, to no avail. Leon raised his shotgun and bashed the doorknob clean off with the butt of the weapon. Claire was about to push through the door, when Leon put an arm out in front of her. Remembering the potential danger, Claire nodded and stepped back. Best to let the professional take point.

Leon slowly pushed the door open into the dark office, his handgun and flashlight raised and ready. The desks that spanned the centre of the room were cluttered and messy. The officers had evidently left here in a hurry. Aside from various papers scattered around, Claire took note of a number of conical hats and other assorted party items. Hanging across the ceiling was some paper bunting with the phrase 'WELCOME LEON' written across it. Evidently, the party hadn't gone ahead as planned.

Leon froze upon seeing this, so Claire nudged him to get his head back in the game. They were looking for Lt. Branagh, who wasn't out in the open. He was likely in one of the two smaller offices to either side of the room. First, they checked the office to their immediate right. They found Lt. Branagh in there, slumped in a chair behind the desk. Leon indicated for Claire to wait in the doorway while he approached. He delicately checked for a pulse and listened for breathing. He backed away from his fellow officer and gently pushed Claire back outside, closing the door behind him.

"He's alive. Just unconscious."

Claire let out a breath she hadn't realised she'd been holding.

"I can't say how long that'll last, though. We should hurry to the chief's office and try and radio for help."

"Right. Let's go."

* * *

The zombies the pair encountered along the way were considerably less frightening, now that they were much more heavily-armed. Claire had no trouble mowing a few of them down with her SMG, while Leon took care of one of the skinned things with his shotgun.

As they proceeded through the hallways of the upper floor, a loud whirring sound began to approach the station from outside. It sounded like a helicopter. And sure enough, a bright searchlight, almost akin to a UFO, flew by the windows ahead of them.

"From what I recall, there's a rooftop just down this hallway," Leon informed Claire. "Sounds like the chopper's landing there."

The two proceeded, somewhere between cautiously and excitedly, coming to the corner ahead quickly. Before them was a door leading to the staircase down to the door Claire had originally entered the building through. The hallway turned left here, with another right just up ahead. Claire turned to face it, only to be greeted by an unusual sight.

In that corner was a child - a blonde girl, around ten-to-thirteen years old and dressed in what looked to be a blue and white school uniform. The girl turned upon hearing the two approach. She panicked and quickly fled away from them.

"Hey, wait!" Claire took off after her as fast as she could. The corner slowed her down some, which the girl hadn't had to contend with.

"Claire!" Leon called after her, but she was too focused on stopping the girl from becoming somebody's dinner to care.

Down the hall, Claire could hear the muffled sound of shouting, then automatic gunfire. The next thing she knew, she was being flung off her feet by some massive impact behind her. It was not too dissimilar to the earlier destruction of Leon's car.

She took a moment to recover from the shellshock of the impact, Leon's desperate calling of her name eventually breaking through the haze.

"Claire, goddammit! Answer me!"

"'m fine!... I'm fine!" Claire turned back to face the hallway, only to find what looked like a helicopter sticking through it and blocking it off. Her shocked brain slowly put the pieces together, just as a few errant sparks inside the cockpit ignited the leaking fuel.

"Claire! Run!" Leon called out before rushing back the why they'd come.

Claire's eyes widened as realisation struck. She dashed around the next corner, where a door awaited to her left - no doubt leading to the roof Leon had mentioned. The same roof on which the back of the chopper was presumably still sticking out. Crouching down and covering her head directly in the middle of the previous hallway and the door, Claire prepped herself for the blast as it rocked the building.

Once she felt it was safe, she peered around the corner at the flaming wreckage. There was no way in hell she was getting back that way. Peering through the glass in the door, the outside looked just as hazardous. Luckily, the rain had picked up, so she could probably hold out until the rain extinguished some of the flames. It wasn't like any of the zombies or skinned things could get her in here.

"Claire!" She could just about hear Leon calling over the roaring flames, giving her a powerful sense of déjà vu.

"I'm okay!" she called back. "I'm going to go after that little girl and work my way back around! But the blast is gonna draw the attention of the zombies! You have to get out of here!"

"Alright! I'll try to work my way around too! Be careful!"

"Will do! I'll see you later!"

"Definitely!"

Claire covered her face with her elbow to keep the smoke out as she backed away from the wreckage. She approached the door, briefly touching the metal door handle and finding it not too hot to handle. She opened the door and stepped out onto the roof. The girl was nowhere to be seen; not alive, zombified, torn apart or burnt to a crisp. At the very least, she was good at avoiding the zombies. Two of said zombies had survived the crash, even if their flesh was currently burning off in chunks.

Once again, Claire planted her feet firmly, raised her handgun, and pulled the trigger.

* * *

 _This was one of those pieces that took on a life of its own. Originally, it was just Claire encountering the zombieified Brad, as well as the meeting in the S.T.A.R.S. office where Claire would change her clothes and Leon would ask why she doesn't attend Raccoon University. And then the two being forcefully split up by the chopper crash instead of splitting up by choice. Just a few simple ideas that spawned something larger. I considered splitting the story into two parts, but ending with Leon and Claire being separated by a crashed and exploded vehicle made for a nice parallel with the previous short's conclusion._


	3. Last Escape

Raccoon City was lost.

That much was clear, even without Jill's experience with the T-Virus two months prior. It hadn't been clear, at first, that the riots were a result of a T outbreak. But the increasing reports of cannibalistic murders that harkened back to the grizzly 'murders' that had led the S.T.A.R.S. to that godforsaken mansion in the mountains led the survivor to conclude that Umbrella's heinous experiments had not ended with the destruction of Ozwell Spencer's mansion.

By now, every member of the S.T.A.R.S. unit had been suspended. Rebecca Chambers had been first. She was only eighteen years old, but had witnessed horrors far more disturbing than even a man of Barry's age and experience could shoulder. She had confided in her fellow survivors that she had been fighting off Umbrella's abominations for almost twenty-four hours straight by the time Chris had found her in the mansion, having managed to survive another 'tyrant' and the supposedly undead Umbrella co-founder, James Marcus.

Chris, as if looking out for the well-being of his own sister, had suggested she get out of town and stay with family elsewhere. Brad had recommended a psychiatrist, should she feel the need to seek professional help. She had gratefully taken their advice and left less than a week after the incident. Rebecca was a healer, not a soldier. The work ahead of the S.T.A.R.S. was to be dangerous and none of her compatriots felt comfortable having the rookie out there on the front lines.

Chris had gone second, forcing Chief Irons's hand as an excuse for a 'vacation' in Europe, where he was secretly gathering intel on Umbrella. His coded messages were still coming in occasionally, but they'd had to go through one of Barry's old contacts to reach Chris and have him send them to Jill's home instead of the now empty S.T.A.R.S. office.

Barry had left a few weeks ago. He had always been worried about his family's safety; it was how Wesker had manipulated him during the Mansion Incident, after all. Jill had seen what a burden remaining in Raccoon under the watchful eye of the transparently corrupt Chief Irons had been on Barry and had told him to get his family out of town while she and Brad held down the fort. With so little of the team left in town, Irons had grown frustrated and simply suspended Jill and Brad out of convenience, keeping the absence of the R.P.D.'s elite unit under wraps.

It was now Monday September 28th and the quarantine had been ongoing for four days.

Only two of the surviving S.T.A.R.S. remained in the city now and Jill was beginning to snap. She had barely left her apartment in a week - to keep clear of the riots and, as was becoming increasingly clear, zombies, and from the increasing sense that she was being watched by what she assumed to be Umbrella spies. Brad repeatedly informed her of having the same feeling, which gave Jill some comfort, knowing that she wasn't becoming a delusional nut job on the verge of losing it.

She had wanted to help get civilians to safety, but her suspension had precluded any police work, even in such a desperate situation. Then again, Jill wasn't sure how much she could really contribute, even if she had been empowered to help. Her dreams had been plagued with nightmares since the Spencer Mansion and she hadn't managed a good night's sleep in over two months.

Brad had proposed she leave town as well and seek help while he stayed behind. Jill had appreciated, but declined his offer, claiming that they needed as many hands on deck as possible as the situation as the city grew worse. But secretly, she also held something of a grudge for Brad's abandonment of Alpha Team upon the team's encountering the T-infected dogs in the forest. Of course, she would never _openly_ admit to not trusting Brad to stay and keep an eye on the city so strongly affiliated with Umbrella. She would take that secret to her grave.

Jill sat on her couch by the fire escape window in the early hours of the morning, not looking forward to another restless night. Her dream this time had seen Chris return with news of Umbrella's activities, only for Albert Wesker, the now dead traitor to the S.T.A.R.S., to kick down the door to her apartment and shoot Jill with a dart containing a new strain of the T-Virus. This strain, he explained, could reduce the host to a mindless killing machine in mere seconds. Jill had awoken as her undead form lunged at Chris, sending her tumbling out of her bed and hitting her head on the hardwood floor.

She hadn't bothered to put on any pants to match her tank top, knowing she wasn't leaving the house any time soon. The last thing she needed was to flaunt her lack of sleep while Umbrella agents observed her every move.

She had tried to watch the news, but nothing had really changed since the previous night. Things had gotten worse, of course, but hardly in any way new. More reported infections, more of the city cordoned off by the R.P.D., more cretins ignoring the quarantine warning from the R.P.D. She was sure Brad would call if anything major-

The phone began to ring. Worried that her idle thoughts were somehow prophetic, Jill jumped to her feet and crossed her living room in seconds to answer.

"Hello?" she asked, trying to mask her grogginess.

"Jill? It's Brad!" She didn't need him to tell her who he was for her to recognise his voice. Or the panic therein. "Oh, Christ, Jill. What the fuck are gonna do now?"

"Brad, slow down," Jill said in what she hoped was a calming tone, though she doubted it was, given the concern rising within her. "What's going on?"

"You didn't see the news?" There was almost a tone of disbelief in his voice.

"No, why?" Jill moved as far as the phone cord would allow and was just able to stretch her leg far enough to scrape the remote from the couch and across the floor with her foot. Before Brad could answer, she had the news back on and her heart sank.

"R.P.D. Falls" the news ticker declared as the anchor reported the story over the live helicopter feed of the police station, its massive front gate wide open and its barricades destroyed. There was no hope. Raccoon was well and truly fucked.

"Oh, no," was all Jill could utter at the report.

"We gotta get out of the city!" Brad cried on the other end of the phone. Jill could only nod in agreement.

"Wh... Where are you right now, Brad?" Jill steeled herself and forced some strength into her voice to reassure her anxiously compatriot.

"I'm at the payphone across from Bar Black Jack."

"Okay. Get inside and barricade the doors and windows if you can. I'll be there in ten minutes. Don't do anything reckless."

"When have you ever known me to be reckless?"

"Coming back to a zombie-infested mansion with a rocket launcher seems pretty reckless to me." Jill couldn't help but smile as she heard Brad make reassured sound. Regardless of her misgivings about the man, he was reliable when it counted. Still, if they were going to get out of town alive, he needed to be the rocket-delivering Cavalry Brad, not Chickenheart Brad.

Jill hung up the phone and rushed to get her pants on. She took a white cardigan and wrapped it around her waist, just in case she needed to wrap up later, though the night was quite a warm one. Finally, she grabbed her pistol and a few extra mags. She felt bad about skipping town with Brad right now and leaving her fellow officers and citizens to fend for themselves as the city fell, but in her condition - restless, traumatised, barely-armed - she wouldn't be much help to anyone. It was better for her and Brad to look out for themselves and ensure they could get out of the city and continue the fight against Umbrella to ensure Spencer was brought to justice.

At least, that's what she told herself.

She had managed to grab her boots and was opening the fridge to take an energy drink to perk herself up when the phone started ringing again. She assumed it was Brad, updating her on the Bar Black Jack situation. She was about to answer the phone when there was a banging on the door. Mrs. Marshal, the woman in the apartment below hers was infamous in the complex for her regular noise complaints, of which Jill had been the subject of four in the year or so she'd lived here. Not in the mood for the older woman's bullshit right now, Jill elected to ignore the door and answer the phone. She was halfway across the apartment when the door crashed open.

Standing in the doorway was a group of four individuals. One was, indeed, Mrs. Marshal. The other three were unknown to Jill. What she did know, however, was that the guttural moaning, milky eyes, ashen skin and bloodstained clothes of the four meant only one thing.

"Zombies," Jill muttered under her breath. She was sure she could deal with the four, given their slow, shambling pace, but her ammunition was limited and Brad was expecting her soon. With little other choice, Jill dropped the drink into one of her boots and ran for the window, hopping out onto the fire escape and closing the window as much as she could to slow the intruders down.

Taking one last wistful look at the place she had called home for the past year, her belongings destined to be taken by looters or burned in one of the riot's many raging fires, Jill rushed down the fire escape, just as a voice came through the answering machine: "Jill? It's Claire." Jill reached the bottom and leapt onto a nearby truck, where she could slip on her boots in relative safety before she continued on.

Unbeknownst to Jill, her movements were being observed by a silent stalker. Its demeanour cold and focused. Its mind at once deathly empty and cunningly calculating. Behind its milky white eye, despite its robotic plotting, only a single word managed to form cohesively:

"S.T.A.R.S."

* * *

 _Believe it or not, this story exists purely because I had the idea of Claire trying to reach Jill by phone to ask about Chris just as she's forced to flee her apartment. It was going to be Nemesis pursuing Jill, but I liked the idea of ending on him watching her from afar, so I went with simple zombies. It took only a couple of hours to write._

 _Also, 3make is good, but short. Happy release day._


	4. Nemesis

The street in front of the R.P.D. was completely clear of infected; unusual and slightly concerning, given the current state of Raccoon, but definitely a welcome change. There were corpses littering the street, but whether those were former zombies or humans killed by such, Jill couldn't say. Either way, she hoped none of them had any intention of getting back up for another round.

Jill had met up with Brad at Bar Jack, as planned, but he'd been in a panic, rambling incoherently about someone or something that was 'out to get' him. She thought she heard him say something about the mansion, but he'd slurred his words, as he often did when in a particularly frantic state. He'd left the bar in a hurry, and she hadn't seen him since. Until now, anyway.

She just managed to spot someone in a bright yellow jacket rushing through the front gate of the station as she emerged from the alleyway onto the main street. Recognising is as being the same jacket Brad had been wearing earlier, she made her way quickly, but carefully, over to the front gate, thanking God that there had been no active infected to confront the lone S.T.A.R.S. survivor who had not spent that night in the zombie-infested halls of the Spencer Mansion.

* * *

Brad wasn't in a good place. He'd run out on Jill almost as soon as she'd found him and gunned down the zombie that had been bearing down on him in the bar. He wasn't sure his hurried warning for Jill to stay away from him had been properly heard, but staying to try again would only buy time for that monster to catch up with him.

He'd managed to avoid the handful of zombies that he'd come across since, but had slipped on a rain-slicked metal fence he'd climbed over and cut his arm open. As he hobbled his way towards the station, thankful that zombies didn't develop shark-like noses for the smell of blood, he couldn't tell anymore how much of the blood staining his jacket was his own and how much belonged to the poor bar patron whose brains Jill had had to evacuate to save him.

And worse, that thing was still out there. He knew it. He hadn't seen it since leaving Jill, but he could hear it every now and then, never sounding quieter as he gained some distance away from it, as if it was able to keep pace with him exactly. And it was probably doing it intentionally. While he hadn't spent an entire night fending off the infected like Jill and the others had, Brad was fairly sure none of them could speak.

But this thing could.

"S.T.A.R.S.," it had growled upon catching sight of him. It had shouted the same a few more times as he made his escape.

There was no doubt in his mind that this thing was some sort of super bio-weapon engineered by Umbrella for the express purpose of hunting down and silencing every surviving S.T.A.R.S. member. Chris, Barry and Rebecca were all out of town, and there was no way they were getting back in through the blockade. That just left Brad and Jill as viable targets.

Although unlikely, Brad hoped that he could lead the creature far enough away from Jill that she'd never have to encounter it herself, and that he'd be able to escape the city himself somehow. Then again, maybe it was karma that he die here at the hand of this tireless pursuer as recompense for his abandonment of his friends during the dog attack in the forest back in July. It was his fault his teammates had become trapped in the mansion, after all.

Jill had always tried to reassure him that nobody died because of him. Joseph was already dead by then and the Bravo Team would've died regardless. If anything, she claimed, he could be argued as the only reason Alpha Team had ventured into the mansion and extracted Rebecca, saving her life.

While it was a nice thought, it didn't stop him from regularly dreaming of holding the line and being on standby as the others entered the mansion and escorted Enrico, Rebecca, Richard, Kenneth, and sometimes even Forest, out to the waiting chopper for extraction. It would have made the notion of being one of this monster's targets easier to bear, at least, with so many others to help form a united front against it.

As it stood, though, there were only two targets left in the city, and while the thought of being hounded mercilessly by that big bastard was unbearable, getting Jill caught up in the chase was even more horrifying.

* * *

Jill leaned around the corner and peered through the rusty bars of the large front gate. She'd passed through her on her way into the station more times than she could count over the years, but it had never felt so alien to her, even the first time she had entered the building. She looked around, spotting blood splatters and the odd corpse, but that was all. The front courtyard was still and dead.

Slowly making her way inside with her weapon drawn, Jill's eyes darted this way and that, hoping to spot Brad's bright yellow jacket somewhere. There were a number of directions he could have gone, assuming he wasn't still hiding in this area. The side gardens were chained shut, so he hadn't gone there, unless he'd hopped the fence, which was certainly outside of his skillset. And more to the point, those areas had been turned into graveyards, and there was no way Brad would risk entering a place filled with more potential attackers.

That left the underground walkway beneath the entrance (assuming he'd hopped the railing down), the front doors, and one of the crates over by the corner, which were marked as containing medical supplies from Raccoon General. The supplies would most likely have been unloaded already, leaving them empty, with just about enough room for Brad to hide in without being too obvious. It would also be easy to get inside, given that the crate was left on its side, based on the direction of the text that marked its place of origin.

Then again, there was a small supply room off the underground walkway, which would be a much better hiding spot, assuming he hadn't simply gone into the main building. Jill had to make a choice here. She doubted she'd find him if she checked the wrong place first, so she had to put herself into Brad's shoes. Where would he go if he thought he was being chased?

The crate was easy to get to, but was also small and exposed, making it a poor place to hide for an extended time. The supply room would be the most difficult to get to, but only R.P.D. officers would know about it, making it ideal to escape a pursuer. The main building was vast and winding, owing to its origin as a museum designed around a guided tour, which would allow one with knowledge of the layout to plan a route around the building that looped back to the entrance for him to escape while his pursuer was lost in the maze. Of course, the situation inside was totally unknowable. It could be filled with his fellow officers, ready to lend a hand, or yet more undead ready to bite off a hand.

Brad wasn't a risk-taker, so the main building was out. He also wasn't stupid, so the crate seemed unlikely, but there was also the risk of injuring himself from jumping down onto the stairs. Of course, the main building was the most open, allowing for a retreat in the event his pursuer was a human who knew the layout. Give her and the team's suspicions of Chief Irons being in Umbrella's pocket, an Umbrella assassin having access to the building's blueprints wasn't entirely unlikely.

For now, she'd have to check the crate. If he wasn't there, that wouldn't be too much time lost. She'd figure out the next step after that.

* * *

Brad head footsteps approaching.

They weren't the loud, thunderous steps of his pursuer, though. They were much quieter than that, and in an even stride, rather than the unnerving shuffle of a zombie. This gave Brad a moment of relief, before dread once more took hold as he feared that Jill may have caught up with him, putting her directly in the creature's path. His suspicions were confirmed when Jill's voice whispered his name as the footsteps grew closer.

He wanted to peer out and tell her to leave, but he was petrified that any action on his part might draw the creature's attention. It might not recognise Jill, after all, given her lack of uniform. Maybe she'd escape the creature's notice if it came past. It was probably irrational to think so, but his mind was struggling to keep up with itself as he began to hyperventilate.

* * *

Jill received no reply from the crates, which she was sure she would have gotten if Brad had been in there. She was tempted to give up on the crates and make her decision, but the prolonging of the task gave her more time to make this potentially very important decision.

Before she could make the decision, however, the ground by the entrance exploded with enough force that Jill was almost thrown off her feet. For a second, as she peered through the dust, she thought the bell from the R.P.D.'s old bell might have been pushed out, before recalling its actual location in the building.

When the dust cleared, a large black mass with patches of a fleshier colour began to unfold. It was a humanoid, as it turned out, but unlike almost anything Jill had ever seen before. As it rose from its landing position, it stood around eight feet tall. The creature immediate brought to mind the image of the Tyrant, the final bio-weapon Umbrella had created beneath the Spencer Mansion; the creature that had killed the turncoat Captain Wesker and been destroyed on the mansion's rooftop helipad with a rocket launcher provided by Brad.

Unlike its predecessor, this creature lacked the massive, mutant claw hand that had impaled Wesker, as well as the exposed heart that had proven the only spot that could give the monster pause from a gunshot. Its rotten brown skin made the blank white eye stand out more than the deathly white skin of the original. One eye being either surgically or swollen shot was probably the greatest difference in its face, as their lipless mouths were equally unnerving. The original had been nude, with no genitals. This thing was wrapped in what looked to be a large black trenchcoat and massive boots that Jill was sure could break any bone in her body with ease if the creature stepped on her.

While the eye lacked any definition, she could feel it staring at her, like a hungry snake - or _the_ hungry snake from the mansion - eyeing up its prey.

"S.T.A.R.S.," it said in a deep, guttural growl, holding on the final S to make the snake comparison even more apt.

By all accounts, this thing was clearly a more advanced version of the Tyrant, probably enhanced by combat data recorded by security cameras inside the mansion's underground lab. It was less grotesquely mutated, its exposed heart either covered or fixed, it could speak, and the specific word it spoke suggested the ability to learn and track specific targets, rather than wildly attacking even Umbrella's own employees, as the original had done.

There was no doubt in Jill's mind: this S.T.A.R.S. hunter was the thing Brad had tried to warn her about as he'd fled. This was the thing that was pursuing him. And now, she was the only target in its sights. Jill thought for a second that, maybe, she could draw its attention and lead it away from her compatriot's possible hiding spot. She'd dealt with the original Tyrant the same way, after all, keeping it busy while Chris made the run for the launcher to finish it off.

She thought that, but her body was on an all together different wavelength. It was shaking, and not just from the chilly late-September air. The shaking was about all the movement it _was_ doing. She willed her legs to move, internally screamed for them to carry her away from this monster before her, but they refused to obey. She was frozen at the thought of having to fight off the big brother of the monster that had tanked shot after shot and only been taken down with a rocket to the chest, with only her handgun.

The creature's first step towards her shook the ground and her arms finally began to move as she desired. She opened fire on the chest, hoping that the heart was still exposed underneath and that the coat was just to make that fact less obvious. Her aim was on-point, but the low calibre rounds simply bounced off of the coat, like BB pellets hitting a concrete wall. The Tyrant had at least been exposed enough for their bullets to lodge themselves into its pale flesh and give the illusion of progress. This thing made her feel like a child trying to stop an oncoming train by pushing against it.

* * *

Brad risked a look through the gap as he held the lid open a smidge. Jill was not far from him, firing futilely at the pursuer as it slowly gained ground on her with each colossally heavy step. She switched up her aim from the heavily-protected chest to its exposed face, but once she did, every subsequent shot went completely wide. Before her weapon ran dry, her target reached out a hand and grabbed her by both of her wrists. Brad silently screamed, "Why didn't you run!?" before chastising himself for knowing all too well the fear of seeing that thing for the first time. And the second. And the third.

With seemingly no effort whatsoever, the monster lifted Jill's arms, pulling up until her feet were left dangling a foot off the floor. She managed to pull back one of her legs and deliver a swift kick to the face. For the first time in the engagement, the creature seemed to have felt one of her attacks. In response, as if this soulless murder machine could feel frustration, it wound its arm back and threw her clear across the courtyard to the opposite corner by one of the locked gates.

Her weapon clattered to the floor in between the two combatants, landing much closer to the dominant giant than its owner. As it slowly, almost toyingly, stepped forward, each step shaking the ground, the creature reached Jill's handgun and crushed it underfoot. Its pace was even, uninterrupted. It was hard to tell if the creature had intentionally done away with her only real means of defence, of if it had gone entirely unnoticed by the creature, so focused as it was on the target in front of it.

Jill pulled her knife from the sheathe on her boot. She and Brad and probably also the creature knew that the knife would do nothing to this monstrosity that barely flinched under gunfire. The only thing giving either of the two officers hope was that Jill had managed to do _some_ harm to the creature when she kicked it, so there was _some_ possibility the knife might do some damage as well. Of course, the kick had evidently pissed it off, more than it had hurt it.

Jill struggled to stand and prepare herself to attack. Her arm was bleeding and her pants were frayed at the knees, through which a little more blood seeped. Brad could only imagine the throbbing pain she must be feeling as she face down this monster that was bearing down on her.

Brad had seen enough. Despite his fear, despite his limbs resisting his commands, Brad pushed open the lid of the crate, crawled to his feet and drew his own handgun. He'd left Jill behind to save his own skin once before. He was _not_ about to make that same mistake again. Steeling himself like he never had before, Brad took aim for the creature and pulled the trigger.

* * *

Jill was so focused on the creature that she didn't notice Brad emerging from his hiding spot until he fired off a shot into the back of the creature's head. For only the second time so far, it flinched. As if it had forgotten Jill was even there at all, the creature turned back towards its initial target, who proved himself the greater threat by getting off a second shot in the side of its head.

Although still shaken and struggling to fight through the rebellion of her limbs, Jill felt a surge of courage from seeing Brad "Chickenheart" Vickers stand up to the monster that was dominating his teammate. She readied herself to plunge her knife into the back of the creature's skull while it was distracted. She was fairly sure she could jump high enough to do so.

She didn't get a chance, however, as the monster launched into a terrifying sprint, reaching Brad in only three seconds, Brad's subsequent shots going further and further wide of his target. Before Jill could even react, it had grabbed Brad by the front of his jacket with one giant hand and lifted him off his feet, raising its other hand towards his face. Jill began her run towards the two to try to use its threat priority to draw it away from Brad, but she was too far away to make it in time.

* * *

Brad fired off two more shots into the creature's face. Although it flinched, these two tiny wounds did little to impede the progress of its free hand. Over the creature's shoulder, Brad saw Jill, moving towards them as fast as her legs would carry her, armed only with her combat knife. In Brad's mind, there was only one way Jill was going to get out of this encounter alive.

"Jill! Run!" he screamed, throwing his handgun over the monster holding him aloft, where it skittered across to stone ground towards her.

In truth, he never finished the second word, as a thick, fleshy tentacle emerged from the creature's free palm, taking only a second to line itself up before it plunged itself into Brad's exposed throat.

* * *

Jill came to a dead stop as she saw the blood explode out the back of Brad's neck and heard his scream cut off into a sickening gurgle. The only positive was that the sound of Brad's scream dying along with him stopped almost as abruptly as it had begun. If nothing else, Brad's suffering was over quickly. Finished with its task, the creature casually tossed Brad's remains over the railing and into the walkway below.

Jill had only ever witnessed the death of a single comrade before now: Enrico Marini. He had been shot by Wesker and died quickly and cleanly. The rest had already been dead by the time she arrived, or had died in front of Chris. A sickening, white hotness pulsed inside Jill's skull, slowing down her ability to process what had just happened. It wasn't the blood-curdling wet thud and sharp snap of bone that Brad's lifeless body made as it collided with the concrete below that cleared Jill's mind and brought her back to alertness. Instead, it was the utterance of the monster's singular focus: "S.T.A.R.S." Its utterance this time was almost triumphant, taunting. It slowly began to turn back to face Jill.

Moving with a speed that could almost rival the creature's own charge towards Brad, Jill scooped up her friend's fallen weapon, his final gift to her, and bolted for the front doors of the station. The creature was hot on her heels after a few seconds, but she managed to get the doors closed and a stack of crates at the side of the doors torn down, blocking them from opening.

Even from outside, the large marble interior of the R.P.D.'s front entrance echoed with the monster's angered roar of "S.T.A.R.S.!" and the accompanying pounding on the doors. She had blocked its pursuit for now, but she was worryingly certain that she would see the creature again before her business at the station was through. It may well be mere seconds away if she didn't get moving, and she wasn't packing nearly enough firepower to stand a chance against the creature in a straight fight.

She had no choice but to escape deeper into the station and hopefully find some fellow officers to back her up. Or, at least some more powerful weapons than a knife and Brad's handgun. She'd head for the weapons lockup and the S.T.A.R.S. office first. Once she had some more appropriate firepower, she would find a way to destroy this monster. No matter how much time or how many bullets and rockets she had to pump into this thing, she would avenge her murdered friend. If it wanted S.T.A.R.S., then Jill Valentine was going to _give it_ S.T.A.R.S.!

* * *

 _I made this chapter to tie-in to the Brad episode of Wasted Plotential, which proposes this idea, and an alternative based on the 3make version of Brad's death as a way to combine the strengths of both versions._


End file.
